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Dalinar, Daughter of the Mill, is shi 
H'as e'er a maid so fair? 



£50: 



DALMAR 



Daughter of the Mill 




Slg (Eljarlpa W, CHutto 




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR 



^DC^ 



DENVER. COLORADO 

THE REED PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1905 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Two CoDies Received 


JAN 5 1906' 


Cocyriirnt Entry 
CLASS a^ XXC. No. 

. 7 "^ / 3 

COPY 8. 



Copyright. 1905 
By CHARLES W. CUNO 



PRESS OF 

The Reed Publishing Co. 

DCN VK R 



Let your word be criticism, not comment; 

seek out merit and praise it, 

but be not too sparing 

of condemnation, 

for, inasmuch as you 

have been just, 

call me your 

friend. 



Dalmar 

DAUGHTER OF THE MILL 



DALMAR 

Daughter of the M; 



CANTO I. 




[here fields of growing wheat 
The babbling brook's sides meet, 
Amid the gentle, swaying trees, 
Where bending bough, with pinon leaves. 
Doth mark the fancy of the breeze 
By splashes in the laughing stream; 
Where moss and grassy carpet seem 
To spread green tapestries, a bed 
For violets blue and roses red 
That wild 'mid Nature's vistas grow; 

Where twitt'ring song and warbling low 

Doth tell the song-bird's hidden nest; 

Where butterflies sail to and fro; 

The flower cups, in lazy quest 

Of sweets they rob; and lying low 

Around the lazy millsite lake. 

The handsome lilies silent take 

Their queenly rest, just out of reach; 

Where almost in the mill-race breach 

There grows the saucy daffodil, — 
There stands a mill. 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

Green ivies grace the rambling sides, 

That seem as though some fairy sprites, 

In caprice of their happy life. 

Did build, 'mid song and laughter rife. 

This rustic mill, 'twould seem, as they 

Did fashion thus of yellow clay, 

And then did pelt with cobbles round, — 

In changing mood,— that strewed the ground. 

Till morning's sun that 'chased them 'way 

Exposed thus strangely to the day, 

All plastered 'round with cobbles gray. 

Its mimic grandeur's mock array; 

In outline small, the turret tall, 

E'en lattice, parapet and all, 

In miniature, the rustic wall 

Of mediaeval castle grand. 

And e'en the setting of the land 

Would lend to fancy's end its faint 

Enchantment to this scene so quaint. 

Did not the millwheel, iron bound. 

In creaking song, thus 'round and 'round, 

Betray the magic Elfin skill. 

The castle turns but to a mill. 

Above the millwheel's creaking noise 
There comes the music of a voice. 
The miller gay doth sing all day 
His mill-song's merry roundelay. 
The throbbing of the mill-stone's grind 
Now goes before, now lags behind. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

The shimm'ring millwheel's splashing beat 
In measured cadence oft repeat, 
Doth frequent seem as though it fain 
Would mock the miller's glad refrain; 
Again to drown the happy sound 
With grinding rattle, 'round and 'round; 
And then to chime in with the rhyme 
And beat the cadence of the time. 
But ne'er the miller heeds the noise. 
Now low his note, now high his voice ; 
Now dies his lay in caprice 'way. 
Now soft, now loud, in tenor key. 
And ever thus, the whole day long, 
'Tis this, the burden of his song: 

"Hola! A miller born am I, 

And e'er a miller will I be. 

For riches have I yet to sigh, 

Or yet the rich man's luxury. 

I toil all day and toil for aye; 

At evening's close I take my rest. 

I have no care ; my simple fare 

Is all my fancy doth request. 

When morning's sun doth light the skies. 

It beckons me to toil arise. 

But evening's soft and mellow light 

Doth find me at my fireside; 

And ne'er a care doth there abide. 

My toil has left me, for at night 



Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 

I am a king. And when its race 

The millwheel ends, and when their pace, 

Their madd'ning pace, the mill-stones cease, 

I dream my dreams in silent peace. 

My mill doth turn by fairy hand 

To turret, wall and castle grand. 

And in my arm-chaired throne-stool place, 

Just by the cheery fire's space, 

I rule, forsooth, with iron hand. 

I muster 'round a millsack band 

Of vassals from the mill without 

And cry, 'What ho ! thou minion, Clout ! 

Come, Clout ! and do my bidding ! .Here ! 

Bring forth the wassail cheer !' 

My daughter takes the queenly place. 

With princess airs, her pretty face 

Doth grace the evening festive board ; 

And from without, the white-faced horde 

Doth seem to crowd the open door 

As though in homage to their lord. 

"Then drink, lads, to the castle mill. 
When night is here and all is still. 
Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
My realm ! For 't night I am a king!" 

And stranger still, this man, this mill. 
This mixture quaint, this miller king, 
This man content, though good or ill 
The cycles of the morrows bring. 



Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 

This miller whose eccentric mien 

Fain fits the magic of the scene, 

Doth add another queerness still 

To mark the quaintness of the mill. 

Tis this, his pastime of the night. 

The miller's joy, his great delight. 

To gather from the nearby inn 

His cronies three, and safe within 

The shelter of his castle mill 

To move with patient, silent skill, 

The chessmen o'er the checkered plane, 

Thus each with each, with each again. 

'Mid scowl and frown and solemn way 

And measured move, they silent play 

The cycle of the patient game 

Till midnight strikes the new 'day's name. 

Then what the cost, if won or lost? 
'Tis all the playing of the game. 
The miller, at this hour's sign, 
Doth bring from cellar of his wine 
And pours to each his portion fair; 
Then all, their glasses high in air. 
Await the signal of their host, 
As speaks he thus his merry toast : — 

"Then drink, lads, to the castle mill, 
When night is here and all is still. 
Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
My realm ! For 't night I am a king !" 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

And oft, when evening's sun doth paint 
The West with crimson tints that faint 
Around each scrolled cloud doth seem 
To weave the sunlight's haloed sheen, 
There comes, forsooth, a sweeter lay. 
And frequent from the turret gray. 
Whence window blinds and dainty lace. 
That truer to its castle grace. 
Fain tells a home, a gentler skill. 
And marks the dwelling 'midst the mill, 
A maid doth gaze upon the scene. 
Or from the door in happy mien 
Doth watch, with bare head, careless grace, 
The gurgling millwheel's happy race. 
And oft she tends the rambling rose. 
That 'lone, its gnarle'd thorn-stem close 
Against the latticed window holds. 
Quaint lattice that the sunlight golds. 
Each crimson rosebud doth she watch 
With tender care, as if to catch 
Each breath that wafts unto the mill 
Its essence o'er the lattice sill. 

Dalmar, daughter of the mill, is she. 

Was e'er a maid so fair? 
Search the world o'er as you will, as she, — 

So sweet, so kind, you ne'er 
Can find again. So fair, that when 
The winds caress her nut-brown hair, 
That waves and curls as if to dare 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

The gentle zephyr's blowing, and 

The sunlight turns, with magic hand, 

The lighter strands to flowing gold, 

That, gleaming, gleaming, on the bold 

Wind streaming, seem a network wire, 

A diadem of golden fire; 

And 'neath this mass, a wealth of grace, 

So pure, so kind, so sweet a face, — 

Is't wonder that her figure fills 

The heart with fervent passion's thrills? 

Brow like the rosebud's dreamy whiteness. 

Soft as the faintest dawn; 
Framed by the golden, curly brightness. 

Smooth o'er the eyebrows brown. 
Cheek, in the heartblood's surging lightness, 

Full with its changing grace ; 
Lips of that faint carnation redness 

Lent to an innocent face. 
From out whose eyes, whose blueness vies 
Celestial splendors of the skies, 
There peeps a soul, so pure, so true, 
A gem that makes this liquid blue 
Its favorite abiding place ; 
And frequent lights this pretty face, 
As if from Northland in its flight. 
Did steal forever for these eyes, — 
Quintessence of Aurora's light, — 
The brilliant flashfire of the skies. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

One day, as sun is sinking low, 

And down the road, thus driving slow, 

A lad with yoke of oxen takes 

His way and, shouting careless, makes 

The echoes answer to his "Gee" and *'Whoa!" 

And leaning on the handle of his hoe. 

Out in the wheat-field near at hand. 

The lazy peasant wipes his brow ; 

And by the roadside, in the sand, 

A chubby urchin, scanty clad. 

Doth build a sandhill castle grand. 

And, laughing, mocks the barefoot lad. 

There comes at once a different sound. 

As clatt'ring hoofs beat on the ground; 

And from the distant hilltop, where 

The bending road and trees so fair 

Cut off all else from view, a knight 

Appears. His steed, a pearly white, 

Foam-flecked as o'er the road he speeds 

So proud, still scarce the bridle heeds. 

His mane and tail, a tawny white. 

Stream wild upon the breeze, and quite 

In keeping with this beauteous steed. 

His silver trappings, fine indeed, 

But add to make a perfect horse. 

Forsooth, as though some magic force 

Did steal a picture from its frame. 

Endow with breath and life the same; 

Restore the fire to the eye; 

Bring down his spirit from the sky; 

Nor mar the beauty of the paint. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

The silver cloth, the trappings quaint. 
And yet, in praising of his steed, 
Shall we forget the man, indeed ? 
In perfect ease and careless grace, 
He fits full well the rider's place. 
His cloak is white of satin fair 
And plain, in simple taste, save where 
In threads of gold the border scroll 
Is woven in the cloth ; and plain 
Around the neck, a golden chain 
Doth hold the cloak in place ; 
And with the horse's flying pace 
The bordered cloak doth frequent fail 
To hide his bright chain-coat of mail. 
Pure white, a plumed feather streams. 
And visor raised, beneath there seems 
A face that tells of manhood true; 
His eyes a frank and laughing blue ; 
A smile that tells his happy mien. 
And from the helmet's edge there e'en 
Doth steal a naughty, yellow curl. 
There from above the winds unfurl 
The pennant from his pointed lance. 
From shining shield the sunbeams glance. 
The pennant's shimm'ring, silken white 
Doth flaunt in golden letters bright 
A legend to the skies, and see, 
Amid the shield's bold blazonry. 
The curious read, so plain, so fair, 
These words, "I seek the fairest," there. 




Then reins, forsooth, his restless steed 
Within the dooryard of the mill. 



D ahnar , Daughter of the Mill 

The lad makes way to let him by 

In trembling haste, nor takes his eye, 

In wondering gaze, from off the pair. 

The farm hand looks with wide-eyed stare 

And doited, open-mouthed surprise. 

The child deserts his sandhill toys, 

Half fearful, yet with curious gaze. 

The silver sheen and noise amaze 

Him. 'Tis a new thing to his eye. 

And quite prepared to laugh or cry. 

In wonderment, he stands thus still. 

And e'en fair Dalmar at the mill 

Doth turn around, so strange this sound. 

As meets her eyes this fairy twain, 

She too doth stare and stare again ; 

And from her innocent blue eyes 

Her frank admiring gaze doth steal, 

As 'twere a prince from out the skies, 

The hero of some fairy tale. 

Nor all the maid's the wonder seems. 
'Mid sylvan shades, the slanting beams 
Of sunlight's setting, shimm'ring drifts. 
And gleams, and strangely paints the rifts 
Amid the parapet's torn ledge; 
And keener outlines to the edge 
The tower's form against the sky. 
Nor lacks this splendid sylvan scene, 
Where birds and trees and flowers vie 
To make a perfect picture dream, 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

Its queen, — for 'mid the setting e'en 
Fair Nature's brightest jewel-gleam 
Is placed; — as, bashful by the lattice sill 
There stands fair Dalmar of the Mill. 
Amid the ringlets of her hair 
And 'round her graceful figure fair. 
And too, caressingly beneath her chin, 
The sunlight plays; and soft within 
Her sunlit face, revealed, there lies 
The beauty of her mild surprise. 
Within her hand she careless holds 
A new-plucked, budding, crimson rose. 

He slows his pace, he slacks his speed. 

Then reins, forsooth, his restless steed 

Before the dooryard of the mill, 

Where Dalmar, shy, her heartbeats still. 

Amazed, doth breathless, wondering, stand. 

With grace inborn, a knight indeed, 

Dismounts he from his fiery steed, 

And o'er his neck, with careless hand, 

He throws the horse his bridle rein. 

'Tis but a moment's time and then 

He doffs his helmet to the ground. 

And, bowing low, — the while the sound 

Of silver spur and golden chain. 

At every motion, chime again, — 

He speaks these words, nor waits to pause ; 

With outstretched hands he pleads his cause. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

"Behold ! A courtier of the reahn 

Am I. Ne'er felt my heart a care. 

Through torrid lands and countries bleak 

I seek the fairest of the fair. 

My task is done, my goal is won. 

Aye, verily, than thee, to me 

None fairer can there ever be. 

Be mine, I worship thee! 

Be mine, I love but thee! 

Thou shalt not want, thou shalt not care; 

Be mine, thou fairest of the fair !" 

The maid looks down quite bashfully. 

Ne'er other man had spoke as he. 

"Nay, nay. Sir Knight, bethink thee, pray," 

Saith she, "what thou art saying. Nay, 

Art thou but jesting? At the most, 

Kind sir, 'tis but a sorry jest 

Thus lightly of thy love to boast. 

Of me thou knowest naught, nor less, 

My life. 'Tis but a simple girl, 

A miller's daughter here, whose world 

Hath ever been this wooded place. 

Who ne'er hath seen thy courtly grace. 

Nor yet a knight or lady fair. 

Methinks that she would poor compare, 

Sir Knight, with these and ill would seem 

At ease 'mid flashing light and gleam 

Of jewels rare, and wine and feast. 

And of thy courtiers, e'en the least 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

Would laugh to scorn thy country jade 
That thou but now hast called a maid 
Than whom, none fairer are to thee, 
Yet ne'er hast seen before. Can't be 
Thou fain would tempt me thus by gleam 
And glitter of thy castle dream? 
Thou speak'st but words, thou lov'st not me. 
For shame!" 

"Nay, nay! fair maid!" saith he, 
"I jest thee not. Each word is true. 
Why dost thou doubt? I love but you. 
Must I, through patient, ling'ring days. 
And sapient looks and sighing ways, 
Bespeak thee, what in passioned word 
I would beery to all the world? 
Is love the worse if 'tis revealed. 
Or thought the manliest concealed? 
Thou see'st the pennant on my lance; 
The words are plain. As search, perchance, 
Some knights the Holy Grail, so I, 
Forsooth, the fairest search. Thus flies 
My streaming pennant high in air. 
I search the fairest of the fair. 
Through kingly court, through castle grand, 
'Mid Persia's famed, through Grecian land, 
'Mid Spaniards dark and Saxons fair, 
And Normans have I searched with care. 
Though fair, indeed, some maids have been, 
Some lacking grace, some flaw has e'en 
Revealed to me that they were not 




JVitli outstretched hands he pleads his cause 



Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 

The fairest, but in thee " 

''Say not, 
Sir Knight. 'Tis but a moment's dream, 
Thy fancied love. Thou scarce hast seen 
Me, yet thy fancy runs so wild. 
Bethinks thee, sir," she says and smiles. 
The while she looks demurely down, 
Then meets his glance with laughing frown; 
''Must I, because thou lovest me. 
Return thy love? But, verily, 
Believe thee can I not, that in 
A moment's time " 

'"Tis true, within 
The hour have I seen in life 
The maid Fate's chosen for my wife, — 
Yet oft in sleep I've dreamed thy face. 
And oft, through reverie's changing grace, 
I've wooed the image of my dreams ; 
And when I see thee there, it seems 
As thou art not so strange. Ah, do 
Not chide! My passioned words are true. 
These have I spoken often when 
I've dreamed of thee. Is't wonder, then. 
That I should speak them now ? And dare 
I not one hope that thou dost care 
A trifle, too, for me? Recall 
Thy words and say to me, for all 
My love thou givest me a hope. 
Just one, I beg, one single hope!" 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

''And wouldst thou have me leave my home, 

These woods, these flowers, all my own, 

My father here, whose toil and care 

Hath kept me safe, his daughter dear. 

His child, his life, his all? How could 

I leave him thus alone ? Nor would 

He hear unto thy suit. Sir Knight. 

Oh, listen but to me aright! — 

Betake thee now upon thy way 

And speak not to my father, pray. 

Thou little know'st how stern he be 

When aught is spoke, e'en jestingly, 

That I be loved, or, loving, may 

Belong to other heart some day. 

So is his heart wrapped up in me. 

He will but answer angrily. 

Didst thou — Oh, sir, it is no jest." 

He smiles and, hesitating lest 

She say too much, she stops, confused. 

Her cheeks with rose-matched hues infused, 

The knight, with bold yet curious smile. 

Hath listened patiently the while. 

And, reading in his glance half caught, 

Suspicions of an inner thought. 

She speaks again : — 

"Sir Knight, and know. 
Though as thou lov'st, I loved thee so, 
I would not thwart my father's will, 
And he refuse, abide here still, 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

E'en though the world be at my feet. 
Abide his word, nor think it meet 
Without his blessing to depart, 
E'en though the yearning broke my heart." 

"Nay, nay," he speaks, "I ask not that." 
And sweeps the ground with feathered hat, 
Though tell-tale twinkling in his eye. 
To wiser ones his words belie. 
"I pray thee take me to thy sire. 
That I make known my one desire. 
Refuse me not, oh fairest one! 
But grant that I may say I come 
From thee to ask this boon for both. 
Thy sire shall have fair lands, forsooth, 
And in the castle live with thee. 
In wealth and ease and luxury. 
Come, princess of my heart, wilt say 
That if I will thus speak, I may?" 

And Dalmar, standing there so still, 

Unwilling, bending to his will, 

A newness burning in her heart 

That singed her cheek until it smart, 

A racing in her veins that thrilled. 

That laughed, that danced, that yearned, yet filled 

Her with dismay; that seemed to say, 

"Joy ! Joy ! O yield thee, Dalmar, pray," 

Yet held her back, drew down her eye, 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

Suffused her cheek, a crimson spy 

That told the tell-tale heart's desire, 

As though 'twere cried by some town crier, — 

Lifts up her eyes to his tense face, 

Takes courage from his smile to place 

That rose into his hand, which, since 

His coming, she had held. Pretense 

Enough for downcast eyes, a place 

In which to hide, surprised, her face. 

But now, — as answer to his prayer, 

A token rose she places there 

Into his hand. 

One moment still. 
Then darts she swift into the mill 
A-trembling at her boldness, all 
A-quiver at her deed; — So tall. 
So fair a knight, so brave a steed, 
Knight errant of her dreams, indeed; 
Yet, when in shelter safe she hides, 
A trembling fawn, her conscience chides 
Her heart for its rash deed. 

And still, 
As strides the knight into the mill, 
She listens to his every word. 
For through the wall each sound is heard. 

Surprised at such a visitor 

Thus striding through the open door. 

The miller pauses where he stands, 



Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 

Then quick reprized, extends his hands 
Still white with meal. ''A welcome, sir, 
A hearty welcome, sir," he says. 
"O worthy knight, what varied ways 
Have brought thee to this rambling mill ? 
Thou 'rt 'cross a hospitable sill. 
Behold, yon sun hath sunk to rest; 
I beg thee, yield to my request, — 
Nay! Do command! (For evening's hand 
Hath turned the mill to castle grand.) 
As king, I bid thee share the feast, 
To grace the board as honored guest. 
And bide you here till morrow's sun 
Shall mark the day anew begun." 

''Kind sir," the knight begins, "though fain 
I would thy cheer partake, refrain, — 
Unless thou grantest my request. — 
I must " 

'"Tis granted ere 'tis asked. 
Sir Knight I" the miller cries. 

"Not so, 

Kmd sir," the knight replies, "for know, 
Sir Reginal De Guise am I, — 
A knight of high degree am I, — 
Nor lacking castles fair, nor lands. 
Nor halberdiers, nor vassal hands. 
Nor gold, nor aught of jewels rare; — 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

Ah, lacking but in one thing fair. 
So to my castle vowed to bring 
Its one and beauteous lacking thing; 
Self-doomed to nomad life, — to grace 
No feast beneath a roof, — nor place 
My head upon a pillow till, 

miller of this mystic mill. 

As blazoned on my buckler there, 

1 find the fairest of the fair !" 

The miller gasps. Before his eyes 

His hands he clasps. Then, as defies 

A desp'rate man his foe, he turns 

To speak, — and then grows weak, as burns 

Within his heart the thought that he 

Hath guessed. 

"Oh, sir, the fairest be 
Thy daughter, here," the knight exclaims. 
"The finest lands in my domains 
Shall be to her a dower, and 
The palace of De Guise shall be 
To her a fairy flower-land. 
And, lest I seem to you too bold, 
Behold this token rose I hold ! 
It is a passport, — hers, — to say 
That if I will thus speak, I may." 

The miller makes as if to speak, 
But when he sees the rosebud, weak 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

He turns his face away ; then shakes 
His fear from off his heart and makes 
His tongue obey. 

"Thou know'st, Sir Knight, 
Not what thou ask'st. The evening Hght 
Hath glamored 'fore thine eyes, a face 
Which morrow's sun will soon deface. 
For twilight's vague, romantic hour 
Reveals to thee a flower 
Well set amid this silver glade, 
Yet plucked, will pale, its beauty fade." 

"But, sir," the knight rejoins, "for aye 
Thou canst not keep her here, and may 
Not ill befall her in this land 
Where might doth rule with iron hand?" 

"Nay, sir," the miller says, "I fear 

Me not. She's but a child, a dear 

Unthinking child, who ne'er a thought 

Of love hath dreamt, Sir Knight, or aught 

Of love hath felt. A merest child, — 

A hoyden, — laughing, romping, wild. 

Come, sir, I bid thee cease this talk. 

Ah ! There ! It is the chiming clock 

That marks the dinner hour. 

Forget thy quest, this rustic flower. 

Again I bid thee rest thee here. 

The nights are cold, yon forest drear. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

Come, sir, a cheery meal and wine, 
And afterwards, some good pastime 
To while away the night." 

De Guise 

In this far, rambling speech doth see 
His suit is far from won. Yet still, 
So pleads this miller of the mill. 
Despairing, though, his word to win. 
He hesitates. His hopes within 
This mill are hid. Accept he will. 
Perhaps 'twill be vouchsafed to still 
His heart, a sight of Dalmar there, 
So sweet, so kind, so pure, so fair, 
Perhaps, — his heart gives one wild leap, — 
The chance may come, when he may peep 
Again into those eyes and hold 
Her slender hand in his, and bold 
May whisper love words in her ear. 
If not, — at least she would be near. 
To look, to speak, — behind his back, 
Perchance, to dart a glance. 

''Alack, 
Kind sir, accept I must," the knight 
At last replies. 

"Aye, chosen right!" 
The miller cries. "Come; waste no words; 
The feast is groaning on the boards." 



D a I m ar , Daughter of the Mill 

But reckons not aright when he 
Thus speaks, for Dalmar, trembHngly, 
Hath Hstened to their words, whose task 
Had been to deck the boards. Alas ! 
As they come in, unto her shame, 
The task is but begun. And red 
Her cheeks, downcast — as words unsaid — 
Her tell-tale eyes confess their guilt, 
As hurr'ing to and fro, fear held, 
She places quick the meal. 

But ne'er 
The miller heeds her glance, nor fair 
The blushing crimson of her cheek. 
Unto the knight he speaks, who, meek. 
Distraught, unthinkingly doth stare, 
Where'er she goes, at Dalmar fair. 

And through the meal, this maid, this knight. 

Exchange their glances o'er the light. 

Awakening 'neath her liquid eyes. 

The White Knight's courage seems to rise. 

He quaffs the wine as though 'twere ale 

And tells full many a stirring tale 

Of joust and knight and lady fair. 

Of Palestine and countries rare, 

Of Moors and Danes, of Celtic might ; 

Describes to them a Rom.an fight. 

He tells of castle, moor and fen, 

The craggy peak and lily glen. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

But most of all of castle hall, 
With trophies hanging on the wall, 
That tell the prowess of De Guise; 
Extols its wealth, its luxury. 
Describes the trees, the brook, the park, 
The cooing turtle-dove, the lark. 
The prancing steeds, the lowing cow ; 
And paints a picture there, to grow 
Within the mind of this poor child ; 
The while the miller's gestures mild 
Applaud; and all his glances still 
Search out fair Dalmar of the Mill 
As though he yearned her in his arms 
To fold, — protect her from alarms, — 
Distress her never by one thing. 
And nought to her but pleasure bring. 

"Come, sir," the miller says, at last. 
When they had finished their repast, 
"The night is young. If thou dost play, 
I have the chess. In fine array. 
We'll pit each piece against its kind. 
Who shows the greater skill, we'll find." 

"Aye, miller of the mill," the knight 

Replies, "one game, by it abide. 

I win, my banner in the air 

I'll fling — the fairest of the fair 

My bride. I lose, renounce my quest, 

Take off this white and gilded dress 



Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 

And sell my steed ; in future ride 
A black knight, sombre shield, astride 
A steed as dark. A wager ! Fill 
The board, O miller of the mill !" 

The miller, hesitating lest 

Too much he wager with his guest 

Doth pause, then half ashamed, he cries : 

*T fear not. Fortune with me lies !" 

And trembling, takes his arm-chaired place. 

The knight opposes him with grace. 

Fair Dalmar sitteth at his side. 

By his tense words half terrified. 

''A Lopez," cries the miller gay. 
As brings the knight his men in play. 
Thus, Knight and Knight, to left and right; 
Then Bishop to the black Queen's Knight. 

A moment pausing o'er the board 
To see what choice the men afford, 
De Guise doth linger musingly, 
While Dalmar leaneth close to see. 

Then Queen advances once her man. 
The miller waits, the board to scan. 
Then twice the Queen's pawn pushes on. 
'Tis captured by his fellow pawn, — 
Reprized by joust of Kingly Knight; 
Then Black, recouping 'fore the fight 



D a I mar , Daughter of the Mil 

Doth pause the Bishop 'fore the Queen 

To pay his due respects, and ther 

The white Queen brings her Knight to serve 

The Bishop's place and yet to swerve 

To aid the pawn. Then Black, his Knight 

Brings to the fray, and cautious White 

A visit to his Castle pays 

(The cunning of his game betrays), 

Contented from this safe retreat 

The sallies of his foe to meet. 

While Dalmar's hand doth silent feel 
Another hand 'neath covers steal. 
A pressure thrilling through and through, 
Which, tremblingly, returns she too. 

And quick of thought, De Guise doth bring 

The Bishop cowled before the King 

To bear the coming battle's brunt. 

(A strong, ecclesiastic front 

They show, well flanked by Knights so brave, 

As were they on parade, so grave. ) 

But ere 'tis done, the Queen's Knight's man 

Doth twice spring forth into the van. 

As thinks the miller musingly, 
Then steals Sir Reginal De Guise 
A loving look unto the maid. 
Which she returns, though half afraid 
That, had he not forestalled his play, 
His chessmen soon had lost their way. 



D al m ar , Daughter of the Mill 

The King of sombre aspect seeks 
His Castle. That, a knowledge speaks 
Of danger lurking near. And White, 
Between the Castle and the Knight 
Doth bid the Bishop take his place, 
To urge each on, if slacks their pace, 
Or in retreat, to save the day. 

But still De Guise divides the play 

Between the board and Dalmar's face 

And, looking quick, doth well to place 

The Knight beside his master's Queen 

(To kiss her queenly hand), and e'en 

As 'twere a signal, opes the play. 

The miller, wise, begins the fray. 

The Knight takes Knight and Bishop Knight, 

White Bishop aids the pawn. The fight 

Goes merry, merry on, for pawn, 

The Queen's, steps forth ; then pawn takes pawn. 

The Bishop takes. Then Knight again 

Retakes the Bishop and the Queen 

Retakes the Knight. 

Ah, Dalmar's face, 
Sir Knight, hath lured thee with its grace. 
Thou'lt find in squeezing hands, in sighs 
And looking into liquid eyes, 
No rules for chess. 

"Sir Reginal," 
The miller cries, ''thou'st lost it all ! 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

The Queen's En Prize, dost see?" and then 
Before his eyes, the Bishop e'en 
Doth take the Castle's pawn. "'Tis check, 
And must thou move thy King. I take 
The Queen." 

"'Tis lost," the knight replies. 
Then comes again before his eyes 
The picture of his hope; doth seem 
As Dalmar stands there in a dream. 
But quick reprized, his face he steels 
And, rising from his place, he feels 
As palsied are his limbs. ''Kind sir," 
He says, '"tis fate, the chessmen were 
The test. Resolved I am to take 
Their meed. Before it is too late 
I take the lonely road. Persuade 
Me not, for my resolve is made." 

As e'en the miller begs De Guise, 
The more resolved he seems to be; 
And when the miller sees he can 
Persuade him not, as man to man, 
He takes his hand and to his guest 
He speaks. "Though I do thy request 
Deny, Sir Reginald De Guise, 
Thyself hath pleased me verily. 
Yet 't seems 'twere wise. In after days 
Thou'lt see the wisdom of my ways. 
A kind farewell. May blessings, sir, 
Be on thy way. But wait, before 
You go, — yes, Dalmar, bring the wine. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

That portion for yourself, this mine. 
The glass hold high and drink the toast, 
Forgive the miller-king his boast, — 
Then drink, lad, to the castle mill, 
When night is here and all is still. 
Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
My realm ! For 't night I am a king !" 

The knight his glass holds high in air. 
Then silent drinks to Dalmar fair. 
"Farewell, a kind farewell !" he cries. 
Addressing Dalmar with his eyes. 
He picks his helmet from the floor. 
Takes up his shield there by the door. 
Then sudden, falls his wandering glance 
Upon his gold bespangled lance. 

"Ah, this shall be to thee a gift. 
Fair Dalmar of the Mill," and swift 
He places it into her hands. 
"A gift, le'en though in foreign lands 
I wander far, that thou mayst know. 
As loves no man, I love thee so. 
Reminder may it be that I am true. 
My heart I leave with thee, and too. 
If e'er in need of my strong arm 
To shield thee aught from any harm, 
From yonder turret, mounting high, 
Wilt flaunt this standard to the sky? 
Perchance fair Fate on that dire day 
Shall lead my wandering steed this way !" 



Dalntar , Daughter of the Mill 

Then standing in the doorway still, 

Bespeaks the miller of the mill : 

''The game, kind sir, with two false plays 

Hath lost to me my hopes," he says, 

''But know, as chessmen in the game 

Play fickle on the board, the same 

Doth Fortune with her pawns and men. 

And if ye see me e'er again, 

'Twill be to come a champion knight 

To claim fair Dalmar as my right. 

Take heed ! So far thou'st won the game, 

Oh miller-king! Yet fortune e'en 

May change, and in her future game 

A Black Knight take the White King's Queen 

And Bishop then, to end the play 

With black-robed priests and grand array. 

In candled chancel, sealed by Fate 

And cowled pomp, declare 'tis 'mate." 

They hear him whistle to his horse, — 
An answer whinny from the gorse, — 
Then trampling hoof-beats on the ground, 
And fainter, fainter grows the sound; 
Then fainter still, and dies away. 

Then hums the miller 'gain his lay. 
Forgetting all his words have cost, 
Rememb'ring but his merry toast, — 
"Then drink, lad, to the castle mill, 
When night is here and all is still." 



Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 

But Dalmar there doth hide her eyes, 
And in the darkness, child, she cries. 
She presses to her troubled breast 
The object of his one request. 
She kisses each and every star 
Upon its silken white, and far 
Into the night well out her tears. 
Till dreamland closes up her ears 
To aught but that one sweetest word 
Which he had whispered, she had heard. 

Forsooth, and oft a knight doth sigh ; 

Alas ! and oft a maid doth cry 

When thinking of that summer day. 

And oft a maid looks up the way 

Where one had come for that short hour, 

To woo the miller's budding flower. 

And oft a knight doth kiss a rose 

That, quaint, its gnarled thorn-stem close 

Against a lattice window held. 

Poor rose! How oft have tear-drops welled 

To wet thy withered leaves ! 

A gold 
And silken banner, legend bold. 
Doth stand within a tower, pressed 
Each day unto a maiden's breast. 
Each starry letter, shining bright 
Against the folds of silken white, 
Have felt the touch of red lips true; 
As loved he her, so love she too. 

5 




DALMAR 

Daughter of the Mill 
CANTO II. 

HERE parapet and turret tower ; 
Where battlement, as though some power 
Did mark the battle's dread array; 
Or yet some mediaeval fray 
Did, mayhap, mar the massive wall 
With battering ram or slingshot ball; 
Where latticed window's narrow space 
Doth seem to mark the favorite place 
Where archers sent their feathered shaft, 
Or spearsmen showed their bloody craft; 
Where, 'round and 'round, the lazy moat, 
Fed by the stream, doth seem to gloat 
O'er carnage past and bloody strife, 
Or days and nights thus ever rife 
With shouts and laughter of the feast ; 
Where creaking drawbridge to the East, 
All seem to mark a castle grand; 
Where wassail lord his lowly band 
Did ever rule with iron hand. 
And serf to lordly will did bend, — 
There rules Sir Redver Onverand, 
A baron of the goodly time 
When feast and battle-rout did chime 



Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 

With joust and wine and women fair. 
A bluff, coarse man, with lordly air. 
And loud of voice, this worthy peer 
Doth hold his serfs in cringing fear. 

Within the hall there, every night, 
Till sunbeams streak the morning light, 
The shouting of the motley throng 
Is heard. 'Mid wine and ribald song 
They drink the night away, and gray, 
The dawning of a beauteous day, 
Oft finds a drunk, besotten lot 
Asleep around an empty pot. 

A jester in this castle hall 

Must e'en perform with cap and ball : 

A poor, misshapen, wizened thing. 

Whose pranks and grimace faces bring 

The laughter to their throats. His round, 

Large head, his arms that touch the ground, 

The hump upon his shapeless back, 

His motley clinging like a sack. 

The grimace of his face, low browed, 

All seem a jest unto the crowd. 

Who follow leading of their lord, 

And banter, jesting, round the board. 

The motley hunchback's queer array. 

Nor lacks he repartee or play 

Of words, or jest to flay the hide 

Of duller men than he, — ;deride 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

The tipster, grimace to his face 
And mock his mien with grotesque pace, 
Or thrust a deep and scornful prod 
To raise the laughter of the crowd. 

The tipster's brawl, the ribald jest, 

All hold for him a great disgust. 

And tied, a henchman to this lord, 

A poor, misshapen thing abhorred; 

His life, indeed, doth seem to be 

One long drawn, dreadful misery. 

Is't wonder that on leisure days 

A visit to the woods he pays, 

Alone with Nature and her life, 

Away from motley, bells and strife. 

Or in his wanderings that his feet 

A pathway to the mill should meet, 

Or that his wizened shape, perchance. 

Should meet fair Dalmar's careless glance? 

In pity for this ugly man 

She speaks as kindly as she can : 

''Good sir, and can I help thee, pray. 

Or aught can aid thee on thy way?" 

"Sweet maid, my name is Conatassel; 
The dwarf, I am, of yonder castle; 
And if I may but rest me by 
This step, the way is long," — (a sigh 
He heaves as he sits down) — "I will 
E'en thank thee, if thou wilt but fill 



D alniar , Daughter of the Mill 

A cup from yonder water's race, 
That I may quench my thirst." 

The face 
Of Dalmar grows, with pity, sad. 
And, hasting in the doorway, glad 
To do a good, kind deed, doth fill 
A glass of wane within the mill 
And adds a sweet cake, golden brown, 
A rare confection of her own. 
She brings them to the dwarf and says : 
"Pray tell me, sir, of their fine ways 
That yonder in the castle dwell." 

'Tair maid," he says, "it is as well 

Thou knowest naught of castle grand, 

Or yet, Sir Redver's ribald band. 

O child, how little do you guess 

What wrongs there are without redress ! 

Come, let us talk of other things. 

The woods, the birds, fair-winged things." 

And thus begins a friendship 'tween 
The dwarf and Dalmar fair. As e'en 
The weeks grow into months, a day 
Scarce passes that his steps that way 
The jester does not wend. And too. 
The miller likes the man'kin who 
Within his dwarfed exterior 
Doth hide a mind superior. 



Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 

The chessmen often wend their game 
Across the miller's checquered plane. 
Fair Dalmar treats him like a child, 
A wizened shape with eyes so mild. 
Caressingly she pets his hand, 
Or turns, with careless mien, the band 
That marks him bounden to his lord, 
Or twirls his dagger that his sword 
He calls. 

The jester dwarf, alack, 
Doth carry 'neath his peaked back 
A heart that throbs, a man's, and each 
Caress so light bestowed doth reach 
His tender soul and sear it deep 
With burning love. His days, his sleep, 
Are all beset with her fair face. 
Her voice, her eyes, her figure's grace. 

And Dalmar, fair, sweet, innocent, 
Ne'er guesses this poor jester's bent. 
She grows each day more fair to see. 
Ofttimes her thoughts are on De Guise, 
But thinks of him as one in some 
Far-distant time, again to come, 
A prince in an enchanted vale, 
The hero of her fairy tale. 

The jester, wand'ring 'neath the trees. 
Fair Dalmar 'mid the shadows sees. 



Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 

He calls her name and soon the pair 
Together gather flowers fair. 

"And why, my Conatassel," saith 
The maid, "dost thou seem so distrait? 
What sombre thought has ta'en away 
Thy smile and jest, this summer day?" 

"Ah, Dalmar, child, thou knowest not. 
What wicked, twisted, motley thought 
My mind encompasses. Ah, child, 
This cap and bells will set me >wild ! 
A jester fool am I ; the butt 
Of yonder Lord Sir Redver's wit. 
I caper, screw my face awry, 
A poor, tormented jester daff. 
To twist each moment's agony 
Into the semblance of a laugh." 

She puts her arms around his neck, 
Caressing his poor hair, but quick 
He throws her arms away and fierce 
Upon her turns. His dark eyes pierce 
Her mild surprise. In rage he speaks : 
"Why do you pet me so? What makes 
You put your arms around me, treat 
Me as a child ? This heart doth beat. 
Though in a carcass built so mean. 
As true as any man's and e'en 
Can feel, can love, can worship thee! 



Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 

Ah, Dalmar child, and canst not see 
My heart, my soul is thine, — and though 
My body's shapeless, ugly, so 
Is not my soul ? Ah, Dalmar, dear. 
Look not away, nor show this fear 
Of my poor, fervent pleading! Say 
Thou dost not hate me, Dalmar, pray ! 
I cannot help I love thee, child; 
I've fought it day by day," and wild 
He falls upon his knee. "I love 
Thee as a being far above 
Me. Nay, repulse me not, but say 
Thou wilt forget the outer clay 
And see the inner man, — a heart 
That beats but for thyself apart, 
A soul built up of one fair scene, 
A life in which thou art the queen." 

But Dalmar, listening scarce unto 

His words, doth stand a-trembling through 

The fear of this fierce dwarf. She thought 

Him but a child. Her mind ne'er sought 

The reason of his coming there. 

She pitied him, she stroked his hair; 

She put her arms about him as 

She would a lad or country lass, 

Who, hurt, did need a min'string kiss 

To cure, or mayhap, a caress. 

Before this wizened man, whose eyes 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

So fierce her sweet soul terrifies, 

Whose passion tense distorts his face 

Into a hideous grimace, 

Whose long, thin arms and ape-like hands 

Like ten'cles seem, she trembling stands 

And then springs like a hunted deer 

From this new, incarnated fear. 

And when he calls to her to stay, 

She pauses long enough to say : 

''Oh, leave me ! Go ! I hate you ! Go ! 

I cannot love, I hate you so !" 

Then speeding to her father's mill, 
She rushes to the turret still. 
The banner snatches to her breast 
And weeps, with fear and rage suppressed. 
That such an one of love should speak, 
A hideous hunchback, ugly, weak! 
She presses to her lips the white. 
Bespangled banner of the knight; 
Compares to him, so brave, so true, 
This dwarf. In rage none can subdue, 
As to her mind the knight appears, 
She sheds a flood of bitter tears. 

Nor blame the dwarf, so sensitive, 
That he should to his rage o*ergive. 
In one so dwarfed, the mind, perchance, 
Is wounded by the self-same lance 
Of Fate that marred the twisted form. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

A body that is so ill born 

Doth taint, mayhap, the inner mind. 

In judging rightly, we shall find 

The small man, wizened, weak, doth e'en 

Display a strong, revengeful mien. 

While larger men, with richer blood. 

Forgive and leave revenge to God. 

As though fair Fate had willed the deed. 
Is ne'er a fairer chance to need. 
For when he comes unto his lord, 
In jest, Sir Redver raps the board. 
The throng stands up from left and right, 
As though to honor some great knight. 
With jesting bow and mocking bend 
Begins Sir Redver Onverand : 
"A welcome, fair and gallant Conatassel, 
Unto our land and goodly castle. 
Why dost thou wander o'er the land 
And shun this hale and hearty band? 
Mayhap, good sirs, I wot 'tis so, 
Some country maid he goes to woo." 
At that, a merry laugh bursts out 
From every blear, half-drunken clout. 

The jester, trembling in his fear. 

Doth cast about with sullen leer, 

For aught to aid him from this wrath. 

Or to some other turn the laugh. 

A sin'ster thought his mind tempts on. 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

Another moment and 'tis done. 

"Sir Redver," saith the manikin, 

"I did but listless wander in 

The woods of yonder silver vale, 

But if thou'lt listen to my tale, 

Which thy fair words doth bring to mind, 

In wandering there, I e'en did find 

O'er yonder vale, a rustic mill. 

A common sight it is, but still, 

As I did draw a-near to it, 

Forsooth, to rest a little bit, 

A maid came forth, so sweet, so fair, 

With bluest eyes and nut-brown hair. 

Nay, nay, sirs, such an one is not for me. 

But good Sir Redver, verily. 

Forgive the word of Conatassel, 

An one to grace this goodly castle." 

"Good sirs," Sir Redver laughing cries, 

"A jesting fool doth me advise 

A miller's daughter take to wife, 

A country jade, upon my life, 

A plump, round, bouncing maid, I wist. 

Tied round as were she sack of grist." 

"Nay, nay. Sir Redver; hear me, pray. 
My head be on it, what I say. 
As such an one you ne'er have seen 
In courtly lady, maid, or queen." 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

"Sirrah, what nonsense dost thou say? 
I'll take thee at thy ovord this day. 
Odds blood, and hath she not the grace, 
Nay, fairer is she not of face 
Than any maid that I have seen, 
Surpassing beauty of a queen. 
Then thou wilt answer for it, sir !'* 

"'Tis done, Sir Redver, 'sooth, and were 
She here, forgiven would I be 
For all this praise. Aye, verily, 
My head be on it." 

"Hear, good sirs, 
What this poor, jesting fool avers. 
Go, bring the miller to this hall. 
Soon we shall see what shall befall." 

The miller pale, with face distraught, 
His mind disturbed with anxious thought. 
Is brought before this ruddy lord. 
"Know, miller, sir, and ^we have heard," 
Sir Redver suavely speaks, "that in 
Thy rustic mill, 'mid sack and grain, 
Hath grown a beauteous, witching maid. 
Forsooth, to whom, when all is said, 
None other can compare. Aye, fair, 
With bluest eyes and nut-brown hair, 
A maid with grace and queenly ways. 
So saith the bard who sings her praise. 



Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 

We bid thee bring before our eyes, 
This beauteous maid, this queenly prize. 
Forsooth, and doth she suit our taste. 
Our time we shall no further waste 
By looking for another, sir, 
But honor thee by making her 
The mistress of this goodly castle. 
Aye, what say ye, my Conatassel?" 

The miller looks around in fear 
And scans the jester's trembling leer. 
He wipes his brow, scarce knowing, says : 
"My daughter, sir, is yet, in ways, 
A merest child. She lacks the grace. 
The courtly ways, to fill a place 
In thy grand castle here, and sir, 
I trust thou wilt not think of her. 
Bethink thee of some maid more fair 
And leave the child still in my care." 

"What! Wilt thou thwart my plan?" 
Sir Redver cries. "I do command !" 

"Nay, sire," his face with rage infused, 
The miller cries, "I do refuse 
To bring my child to be thy sport, 
With such a drunken rake consort, 
E'en ithough he maketh her his wife." 

Sir Redver chokes with rage. "'S life!" 



Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 

He cries. His eyes stick from his head. 
"What means this lout?" His face turns red. 
He chokes and gasps to gain his breath. 
"With such a drunken rake! 'Sdeath!" 

His lips turn white, his eye-balls roll, 
And Death had nearly claimed his soul. 
They bring him wine, they ease his neck ; 
Reprized, he holds himself in check. 

"Sir, miller, lout," he cries suave, 
And thou wish to escape the grave ! 
'Sdeath ! ThouMst best obey my will. 
Make ready then this hour, thy mill. 
To greet this goodly company. 
What say ye, sirs ? Aye, verily, 
We shall attend a wedding there; 
The miller's daughter, called so fair. 
And yonder comely Conatassel, 
Our valued jester of this castle. 
And know, O miller, but a jest 
Shall be her marriage at the best. 
In tawdry motley shall it be 
Proclaimed a cowled mockery. 
Aye, wedded, yet ne'er wed. 'Tis well. 
Within my castle shall she dwell. 
So here's to jester's wife to be. 
We'll drink, sirs, to her chastity." 

The miller's raging knows no bound, 
His moving lips give forth no sound. 



Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 

And when, at length, they lead him 'way, 
He musters breath enough to say: 
''And thou dost carry out thy threat. 
Sir Redver, know, my mind is set; 
Protect her with my life I will, 
And ere I die, shall one lie still. 
Aye, sir, her blood be on thy head; 
Than see her thus, I'll see her dead !" 

Sir Redver, laughing at this speech, 

Again, doth for the wine pot reach. 

"Methinks, a merry time's in store. 

Until we've settled with this boor. 

A threat, kind sirs, an idle threat. 

This miller's bravery. And yet. 

Mayhap, a maid that's prized so high 

Will be a jewel worth the try." 

With that he drinks the tankard down. 

''What, wilt thou speak, thou jester clown?" 

"Oh, sir," the jester says, his thought 
By his desire great distraught. 
All eagerly he wants to aid 
To gain, as wife, this beauteous maid. 
Ne'er dreaming, in Sir Redver's mind 
What sin'ster thoughts there lurked behind 
When he had made her jester's wife, 
'"Tis true, this miller with his life 
Will guard the honor of his child. 
I know the man, his courage wild. 



Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 

There is a pathway through the wood, 
While he will take the longer road. 
If I o'erreach him to the place 
And bar the door before his face, 
The game is won. Or need it be," 
He taps his dagger knowingly, 
"And do I win, a signal will 
I hoist above the rustic mill. 
And you, with all your men, will be 
Beneath the hill, and when you see 
The signal, haste to gain the day." 

"A plotter," cries Sir Redver gay, 
''Who anxious, plots to gain his bride. 
'Tis well. Then haste and we will ride. 
Ho! Varlet, bring my trusty steed. 
Now, sirs, another glass of mead. 
Then do we follow. Ah, my sword, 
And are we ready? Ton my word, 
I'd near forgot. The monk, thou boor, 
Go fetch the monk and quicker o'er 
Will be the wedding hour. Sirs, 
My shield, my helmet and my spurs." 

They leave the hall, a motley throng, 
While hastes the dwarf the path along. 
His brain, afire with this deed. 
Doth urge him on with greater speed. 
And on the road the miller hastes. 
His pent-up rage to air he wastes, 



} ^.'/ ^ 



i ,-^ 








// Tca^, forsooth, — ivhat curious chance! — 
Sir Rcgiiial's fair, hauncrcd lance. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

Nor thinks, nor plans, but hastens still, 
His one great need to gain the mill. 

And such the angry miller's speed, 
Before the dwarf, as is his need, 
He gains the doorstep of the mill. 
He bars the door, while o'er the sill, 
That rose-decked window sill, climbs in 
The ugly dwarf. When once within, 
With cat-like tread and dagger drawn. 
Thus stealthily he creeps upon 
The miller, who, his back turned still, 
With double bars makes fast the mill. 

Her father hastening to greet 
Fair Dalmar, in the doorway meets 
This treachery. Ah, wounding wide. 
The dagger strikes the miller's side 
Before her piercing scream can reach 
His ear, and, crimson in the breach. 
His life-blood rushes out. Her cry. 
As to her father she doth fly, 
The jester fills with awful fear. 
And quickly up the turret stair 
He runs and bars the door. But she 
Moans o'er her sire, caressingly. 
Who seems so limp, as were he dead, 
Nor heeds the dwarf, who o'er her head 
Is palsied. Fear convulsed he stands ; 



Dal mar J Daughter of the Mil 

And as unclasps and clasps his hands, 
A moan comes from the room below, 
And then the sound of sobbing low. 

Remembering, then Sir Redver's band, 
He grasps what first comes to his hand. 
It is, forsooth, — What curious chance? — 
Sir Reginal's fair-bannered lance! 
He rushes up the turret high. 
Unfolds unto the pearly sky 
The snow-white banner of De Guise 
And plants it bravely to the breeze. 
While down the hill and round the bend 
There comes Sir Redver Onverand. 
He leads a motley band indeed, 
Astride a noble, snow-white steed. 

Before the gateway of the mill 
They pause. There all is still. 
Fair Dalmar staunches, sad, the wound. 
While he, recovered from his swoon. 
Retells her all : Sir Redver's threat. 
The dwarf, his own rash words, and, wet 
With tears, her eyes still flash with fire. 
As speaks she loving to her sire : 
"O father ! fear thee not that he 
Will lead me to his revelry; 
For, rather would I take my life, 
Than for one instant be his wife !" 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

Ere she hath done, a thund'ring shout 
Fain tells Sir Redver is without. 
"Ho ! there within ! We do demand 
To open for thy lord !" They stand 
In silence, but no sound they hear. 
Then at the word they all draw near. 
Together, then, with sudden cry, 
Against the door their strength they try. 
Once doth the door the throng withstand, 
Then snaps the hinge's iron band. 

The door falls in. They see within. 
The setting sunlight, in a flood, 
Streams slanting o'er the fallen door, 
Where Dalmar staunches there the blood 
That trickles to the oaken floor 
Red from the wounded miller's breast. 
But almost ere the door has crashed 
And echoed through the raftered hall, — 
As sudden, at their deed, they all 
An instant awed and silent stand, — 
She springs erect and in her hand 
The red assassin's ghastly knife, 
Still crimson with her father's life. 
She holds aloft, — and tears the dress 
From o'er her quiv'ring, heaving breast. 

"Stand back 1" she cries. "But one step more 
And I will plunge this in my breast ! 
Sir Redver, step but there across that door, 



Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 

A lifeless triumph at the best 
Will be thy victory." 

Aghast, 
They silent stand. The dagger clasped 
In quiv'ring hand, alone betrays 
She lives. So still, in marble cast, 
Sid Redver seems. Each menial stays 
His breath in awe. None dare to breathe, 
Lest then the quiv'ring hand should sheath 
The dagger in her breast. 

A cry, 
Unsheathed to the listening sky. 
Loud echoes, piercing strange from hill 
To tragic setting 'round the mill. 
"A champion!" cries the trembling maid, 
And ere her words are fairly said, 
A rider on a coal black steed 
A-down the hill doth dashing speed. 
Each step he cries his horse to haste 
And faster falls his whip apace. 
As speeds he on, his cloak of black 
Waves wild upon the breeze, and black 
The shield and helmet both betray 
To none, "De Guise." He seems to sway. 
His horse, exhausted, staggers down. 
Yet slacks he not; again lays on 
The whip, until, within their midst. 
On foaming steed, he breathless sits, — 




A rider on a coal black steed 

A down the hill doth dashi}ig s/^eed. 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

His visor down, his rein now slack, 
On sable steed, "A Knight in Black." 

A moment thus, there, face to face, 
Sir Redver and the knight their gaze 
In silent wrath exchange. In scorn. 
Sir Redver then, in words inborn 
With hate to this strange man, exclaims : 
"Sir Knight, of sombre hue, what claims 
Have you to challenge me? What right 
To champion thus a cause, or fight 
For that which rightly I call mine?" 

"Sirrah! What rightly thou call'st thine?" 
The knight exclaims, as loosed from throat, 
His sable cloak doth show his coat 
Of bright chain mail. He tosses, bold, 
His helmet to the throng. "Behold!" 
He cries, and points up to the tower, 
Where long within the passing hour. 
The pennant streams in blaze of white, 
"Seest thou those legend letters bright 
Across that pennant's face?" And then 
From shield he tears, from end to end, 
The cloth that hides the steel from light. 
And shows, emblazoned to their sight. 
The pennant's self-same legend fair, 
These words : "I seek the fairest," there. 

"Doth question now my right to stand 



Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 

Defender from thy ruthless hand, 
Sweet Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill ?" 

Sir iRedver 'stride his steed sits still. 

Then scornful smiles he at the knight, 

As if to jeer his fancy's flight. 

But ere he can, the knight, with grace. 

Casts from his side his cloak, then throws 

His gauntlet full into his face. 

*1 challenge thee to fight." He draws 

His sword. Sir Redver crimsons 'neath 

The blow, then quick his sword from sheath 

Withdraws. The crowd, from left and right. 

Make way to give them room to fight. 

Black charger to the left and white 

To right. Spurs to the black. Sir Knight. 

Sir Redver's sword for a lash. 

The white. Then, spring together, clash. 

Each steel on shield, loud crash and crash. 

Wheel to the right, both to the fight. 

Oath from Sir Redver, shout. Sir Knight. 

Bright streams his yellow hair, the breeze 
Curling in ringlets fair, De Guise! 
With visor down. Sir Redver on, 
On to the fray spurs white his way! 
Crash! Crash! Again! A shout, and then, 
Ah, God ! Glanced from shield, the Black, 
Pierced to the heart, neighs, staggers back, 



Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 

Then falls, but ere he falls, the Knight, 
Enraged, strikes out in angered might. 
Tis caught on shield. Sir Redver reels. 
He reels, then grasps at mane. He reels, 
"My God r he calls, grasps wild, then falls. 
Unhorsed, there both, each Sir Knight lies, 
Then up Sir Redver to the fray, 
But pinioned by his horse still lies, 
Alas, Sir Reginal De Guise! 

Fair Dalmar sinks upon her knees 

And prays in fear, as draws he near. 

Sir Redver to the knight there prone. 

"I've won !" he cries, "Sir Knight, I've won !" 

Then strikes a blow with might and main. 

(For shame to strike him thus!) Again 

His shield stands him in need, the knight. 

The sword blade spends its two-hand might 

Upon its steel. On charger's back 

The glancing blade drives deep. The black, 

In quiv'ring struggle starts with pain. 

Then stiff in death, falls back again. 

But ere he falls, De Guise, released, 

Springs up, his strength and might increased. 

They slash, they lunge, in battle plunge. 

From left to right, around, around. 

In circles o'er the millyard ground. 

And ever cries the motley throng, — 

"Sir Redver on! Sir Redver on!" 

From front to back, from- left to right. 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

Sir Redver and the gallant knight, 

From road to stream, then circling back, 

Then o'er his corpse, the charger black. 

On shield and steel in wild tattoo, 

Sir Redver grim, but at each blow 

That tells, the knight cries, "To the fight ! 

I serve the fairest ! Ho, my blade ! 

Be true my blade! Well done my blade!" 

And Dalmar there on bended knee, 

Forgets to pray. 

Shouts on the throng, 
"Sir Redver on! Sir Redver on !" 

She sudden springs to feet. "De Guise !" 
She cries. "De Guise !" Above the noise. 
The shouts, the clash, sounds clear her voice, — 
"On, on! De Guise! On, on! DeGuise!" 

He hears. It spurs him on to fight. 

He strikes a blow with all his might. 

He drives it home, past shield and guard, 

To gorge, through gorge, through neck, through 

gorge. 
And headless stands Sir Redver there. 
His shield still raised, his sword in air. 
Then quivers, trembles ; down he falls! 
The visored helmet, head and all, 
A ghastly object, rolls and rolls 
Until it strikes the turret wall. 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

'Tis done ! There o'er his foe, to breathe 

An instant silent pauses he; 

Then springs Sir Reginal De Guise 

To where, again on bended knee. 

The maid prays for her champion's might. 

"Look, Dalmar, see!" He cries. And white 

Her face, she looks up where his eyes 

Meet hers, then springs erect and flings 

Herself into his arms. She cries: 

"Thank God ! You win ! You win !" and then 

Forgetful till this moment, turns 

To where the miller's life-flame burns 

Thus fitful to its tragic end. 

"O father! Father! Look !" she cries. 

And kneels beside him where he lies. 

"Look! Father! Look! The Knight De Guise 

Is here, and I, thy Dalmar, see ! 

O father, speak !" she cries as tears 

Well from her eyes. The miller hears 

As in a dream. He stirs and sighs. 

And turns his head, and pets her hair. 

Then sees the knight still standing there. 

As he had stood thus once before. 

His figure in the open door ; 

His bright chain mail, his hair of gold. 

That self-same smile, those eyes so bold ; 

But as he looks, the serfs without 

Bring in his cloak, and round about 

His frame he draws the cloth, and too, 

His helmet fits upon his brow; 

8 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

And visor down, transformed, the sound 
Of his fair voice repeats each word 
That, once before, these two had heard; 
Unchanged, but that his coat of white 
Has changed its hue to sombre night ; 
Unchanged his words of jest, forsooth. 
But that he speaks them now in truth : 

''As chessmen often in the game 

Play fickle on the board, the same 

Doth Fortune with her pawns and men, 

And if you see me e'er again, 

'Twill be to come, a champion knight. 

To claim fair Dalmar as my right. 

Take heed, so far thou'st won the game, 

O miller-king, yet Fortune e'en 

May change, and in her future game 

A Black Knight take the White King's Queen, 

And Bishop then, to end the play. 

With black-robed priests and grand array. 

In candled chancel, sealed by Fate 

And cowled pomp, declare 'tis 'mate.' " 

The miller makes as if to rise. 

He points his hand without and cries : 

"Yon cowled monk !" Then gasps in pain 

And sinks unto the floor again. 

The priest comes in and kneels to shrive. 

To speak, the miller seems to strive. 

"Not here," he gasps, "not here, but there; 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

Unite in wedlock yonder pair." 
The monk turns in surprise and sees 
Fair Dalmar standing by De Guise. 
One moment only, hand in hand, 
A few words spoken as they stand, 
And then 'tis o'er, the deed is done, 
Sir Reginal De Guise has won. 

The miller's eyes, with glassy glare, 
Around the mill-room seem to stare. 
The rafter ceiling 'pears to rise 
To domed church-roof in his eyes. 
His finger points out into space. 
As though he sees it 'fore his face, 
The candled chancel, bright with light. 
The cowled Bishop and the Knight. 
Half raised, these words he speaks: 

"As e'en 
The Black Knight takes the White King's Queen, 
And Bishop then, to end the play. 
With black-robed priests and grand array, 
In candled chancel, sealed by Fate 
And cowled pomp, declarfe 'tis 'mate.' " 

They bring him wine. He drinks it down, 
But sees them not. His mind has gone 
Back to that one and fateful night, 
When first he saw the Knight in White, 



D almar , Daughter of the Mill 

And sudden, left him has his pain. 
Those happy days are back again. 
Upon his feet, they help him rise, 
And swaying, weak, the miller cries. 
As though he were their merry host, 
The oft spoke words of his fair toast : 

"Then drink, lad, to the castle mill. 
When night is here and all is still. 
Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
My realm ! For to-night I am a king." 

Aye, lay him down and ease his head. 
Farewell, thou Miller-King ! He's dead. 

There dwells within a castle fair, 
A lady sweet, with nut-brown hair. 
Fair Dalmar of iDe Guise is she. 
Far-famed of chivalry is she. 
And bards that sing of those fine days 
Oft tell the exploits of De Guise. 

As for the dwarf, when they had sought, 
With eyes fixed on the mill-yard court, 
They found him standing, bowed his head, 
His hands grasped o'er the sill, — and dead. 
The miller was revenged indeed. 
No earthly hand had wrought the deed. 

The creaking millwheel, iron bound, 



Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 

Hath long ceased turning 'round and 'round. 
The rambling, rustic, castle mill 
Doth stand, vine decked, in silence, still. 
And o'er the latch lock, shining bright. 
Some knowing soul did laughing write, 
From scrolled hinge, till latch begins, 
This legend scrawl, 

"THE BLACK KNIGHT WINS." 



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